


Shadow Boys

by countermeasures, thegrumblingirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And being able to trust, M/M, The prompt was about hurt/comfort so that's what it'll turn into, gore as seen on the show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countermeasures/pseuds/countermeasures, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Peter, where are you? Damn wolf said he’d be here 30 minutes ago,” Chris muttered under his breath. He was sitting in his car in the dark, his eyes trained on the first floor window of the house he was monitoring, and growing increasingly annoyed. This was the third night he’d been there without any movement in the building, and he needed somebody who could tell him if anybody was even home. Why hadn’t he called Isaac? Or Scott? Even Derek would’ve been here by now.</p><p>“Don’t get your panties in a twist, handsome, I’m here. Sometimes I don’t believe you’re the hunter that I know you are, so impatient.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Peter, where are you? Damn wolf said he’d be here 30 minutes ago,” Chris muttered under his breath. He was sitting in his car in the dark, his eyes trained on the first floor window of the house he was monitoring, and growing increasingly annoyed. This was the third night he’d been there without any movement in the building, and he needed somebody who could tell him if anybody was even home. Why hadn’t he called Isaac? Or Scott? Even Derek would’ve been here by now.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, handsome, I’m here. Sometimes I don’t believe you’re the hunter that I know you are, so impatient.” 

Chris had been so focused on the window that he hadn’t noticed Peter coming up to the car until the door had opened, so he automatically went for his gun before even registering who it was. When he saw Peter, he lowered the weapon but held on to it.

“Really, Chris? Just put the gun away. You called me, remember? I just did a circle around the building.”

Chris grumbled. He couldn’t help it, there was still a part of him that didn’t trust the man sitting next to him. Not even after… well. Not even after their points of contact had extended, from stakeouts — Chris shifted minutely in his seat — to makeouts. He let go of the butt of the gun, and put his hands on the wheel. “So, anything unusual?”

“Nope, same old, same old,” Peter said. “Just the older couple watching tv downstairs. Are you sure your info is solid?”

Chris’s hackles wanted to rise as if by instinct, but Peter’s tone wasn’t accusatory or mocking. He was merely asking a question Chris himself would have asked any other hunter, so he willed himself to let it slide. “Reliable sources are never completely reliable, but the evidence was clear enough. Something’s there.”

“It would be a lot easier if we could just… I don’t know, go _inside the building_.” On that note, Peter’s inflection did turn towards teasing, so Chris narrowed his eyes at him, an expression he knew was enough to make young Deputies nervous. Peter raised his eyebrow.

“We can’t, not yet. Don’t want to spook it. Him. Her. Whatever,” Chris finally answered, firm.

Peter sighed. “Fine. How long do we need to stay here?”

“There’s no we, Peter. I just needed your nose. You can go home.”

“Nicely put, I feel so appreciated.”

Now, that was definitely a smirk, and Chris had to suppress an overly expressive eyeroll. He turned to Peter. “Thanks for helping out.”

“Much better.” Peter reclined the car seat and settled in.

Bewildered, Chris could only blink for a second. “What are you doing?” he asked, knowing full well how ridiculously suspicious he sounded.

Peter turned to him with an innocent look on his face — well. As innocent as Peter Hale ever got. Chris ignored the small smile playing around his mouth.  “I love stakeouts.”

“No, you don’t.” Chris reached over Peter and opened his door. “I mean it, you don’t have to stay.”

Peter covered Chris’s hand with his and softly closed the door again. “I know. But I want to.” He kept his eyes trained on Chris’s, until Chris huffed quietly and turned his head away.

“Fine, just don’t distract me.”

“Who, me? Never.”

Chris ignored him, and focused his attention back to the house. It was all too likely that tonight wouldn’t be fruitful, but if something did happen, he didn’t want to miss it. He figured there was no point in wasting more time on Peter — he’d get bored eventually and go away.

After 30 minutes of silence, Peter turned on the radio, disregarding Chris’s protests. He’d never admit it, but he liked these stakeouts, as long as it was with Chris. The hunter’s scent was mesmerizing, and he took every opportunity to get close to him. He kept playing with the buttons, looking for a station with the right mood.

“You always do this. Will you just pick something?”

“It would be a lot easier if you let me set your favorites.”

“You mean _your_  favorites. I’m perfectly fine with my settings, NPR, sports, all I want.”

“It may be all you want, but it’s definitely not all that you _need_.” Peter settled on a station that played ‘70s rock. “You must get tired of people talking all the time.”

“Yes, I do,” Chris replied, giving him a pointed look that Peter studiously ignored. “Good thing about a radio is, there’s an off-switch.”

“Oh, come on, no need to be like that. Don’t tell me you don’t like music. You must have favorites, songs with memories. The one that got you through your first breakup, the one that played the first time you… well, you know,” Peter said, raising his eyebrows at him.

Chris slowly turned and studied Peter’s face. Surely he was joking. “Please stop talking, you’re acting like Allison used to when we had a long drive.”

Peter put his hands up in surrender, and dropped the subject. He knew to pick his battles, and this wasn’t worth it. He called it a small victory that Chris didn’t change the station or turned off the radio. They listened to the songs, staring at their target for another hour when the first tones of Rebel Rebel filled the car. “I always liked Bowie.”

Chris made it a point not to look at the werewolf. He didn’t have to see him to know what was written on his face. This was the song that had been playing the first time a stakeout had taken an unexpected (and, to Chris’s chagrin, not altogether unwelcome) turn.

It had been three months ago, in a not so different situation from the one they were having now. Chris had gotten a tip on unusual activities around a house at the border of town that he wanted to check out, and he’d asked Peter to join him. The first night had been uneventful, but they’d found some peculiar track marks, which had been enough to have them return the night after. The evening had started with their usual banter, but had taken an unpredicted detour towards flirting. Peter’s comments had always been filled with double entendres, but that night, Chris had somehow found himself responding to him.

“You sure you’re ready to play on my level, Argent?” Even if Peter had been surprised by the change in his tone, he hadn’t let on. It had only seemed to encourage him to step it up.

“I didn’t know this was a game to you,” Chris replied, as they made their way back to the car. There were fresh tracks, and they decided they’d stay the night to see what would come crawling out of the woodworks.

Peter immediately tried changing the radio station when they got in, pushing every button on the panel until Chris grabbed his hand to make him stop. The radio had landed on a channel playing Bon Jovi, not Peter’s favorite, but okay. It felt like his hand was tingling under the hunter’s touch, and it surprised him how much he liked it, even though he was self-aware enough to have realised their mutual physical attraction months ago — a slow pull, almost like an undercurrent, somewhere among the murders, grudges, and guilt, getting stronger the more often they worked together on hunts and during research of obscure phenomena. He didn’t dare move his hand, end the moment, so it was Chris who broke the spell by letting go. He turned to his left to find Chris staring straight ahead. He put his hand on Argent’s thigh, hoping he was reading the situation right.

Chris wasn’t entirely certain of what just happened, but he was reasonably sure that Peter’s hand was on his thigh and that he wanted to find a way to keep it there. He took a deep breath and turned towards the werewolf. “What are you doing?” He asked, his voice slipping somewhere between exasperatedly annoyed, borderline paranoid, and teasing.

Peter raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, not entirely convinced that he wasn’t actually dreaming (and, ugh, he had, before). “Do you want me to stop?”

He shook his head. Oh god, no. He needed more. It had been too long since Chris felt like this, and Peter seemed like the kind of guy who didn’t mind being used for lust. He released Peter’s seat belt - why did he even buckle that - to give the man more space, and leaned in until their lips touched. Both were hesitant for a second, before their tongues connected and their hands started to explore more freely. Chris felt more than saw that Peter moved closer and slipped onto his lap. Bless his choice for a big car, he thought. He’d tried this in much smaller cars back in the day and it always ended messy with one of the two being stuck in the steering wheel, or hooked on the gear stick, or the door. Somehow Peter managed to unbuckle Chris’s jeans, and started investigating. Suddenly, Chris grabbed his arms, his body tense and alert, guard slamming back up. “Peter, stop,” he whispered breathlessly.

Peter’s fingers stilled, just inches from what could have been his prize. He looked up at Chris, something close to impatience on his features. “What?”

“Look.” He pointed towards the woods. “There’s something there.”

Peter glanced in the direction of the trees, unwilling to leave Chris’s lap, and sighed. He was right, there was definitely something there. “We’re not done, Argent,” he growled while moving back to his seat. He really hoped they weren’t, this had felt too good to not do it again. He just caught the last few bars of Rebel Rebel on the radio when his senses returned to him from their narrow focus on Chris’s scent and the way his breathing had hitched under his hands. Bowie would never be the same.

Chris had spent days afterwards cursing himself for letting his guard slip, for giving in to… something that didn’t even have a name and sure as hell didn’t make any sense. Joke’s on him, though — to the tune of Rebel Rebel may have been the first time, but it hadn’t been the last. It had come to the point where Chris started asking others to join him on important stakeouts, to avoid mistakes. But each time he wasn’t in the car with Peter, it felt like something was missing, something was off. Chris would never admit it, but he was happy when something came up that needed investigating but wasn’t a serious threat, like the house they were watching now.  

“Chris?” Peter was waving his hand in front of his eyes. “Argent! We’ve got movement.”

That was enough for the hunter to snap out of his daydream and be on full alert.

“Wow, where did you just go, looked like you were having a great time there,” Peter teased, fairly sure they’d just taken the same trip down memory lane.  “Something’s happening upstairs.”

“You said there was nothing but the older couple.”

Peter chose to ignore the anger in his voice, and got out of the car. “Stay here, I’m taking a closer look.” He started heading for the house before Chris could interject. Chris caught himself staring at the werewolf’s back instead of paying attention to their surroundings, admiring the muscular build until he was too far away from the car to do so. Impatiently, he waited, casting nervous glances into the dark. Finally, Peter reappeared.

“False alarm,” Peter whispered when he got back to the car. “It’s the woman. Probably let her husband have the TV, he was still downstairs watching a basketball game.”

Chris nodded, then scrunched up his nose. “Why do you smell like wet dog?”

“Gee, thanks. Like you’re smelling like roses,” Peter snarled back, even though he was well aware of how good Chris smelled. “I don’t know if you noticed, mister supersleuth, but it’s started raining.”

Chris saw the drops in Peter’s hair, and suddenly heard the raindrops on the roof of the car. He checked the time on the dashboard. One a.m. He’d been there for four hours by now without a single incident, and clearly he wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on, so he had best go home and forget this ever happened. “Can I drop you off somewhere?”

Peter’s apartment was only two blocks away, and Chris knew that he had walked over.

“Sure, my place would be great.”

The short drive over was quiet, both of them listening to the news.  Everything seemed okay, almost comfortable. It wasn’t until Chris parked the car that Peter did his best to knock Chris off kilter. “Can I offer some coffee? A drink?”

Chris was tempted for a moment, remembering Peter’s hands on his body, but he didn’t give in. “It’s late, some other time.”

A shadow passed over Peter’s face, and Chris had to reign himself in, hard, before his heartbeat could speed up at the thought that it might have been disappointment. No, surely not. That wasn’t how they worked.

“Some other time,” Peter responded, pleasantly enough but with the charming smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Good night, Chris,” he added, then got out of the car before Chris could say anything else.

“Good night,” Chris said to the silence falling in the car, watching as Peter dashed through the rain up the steps into the building. Funny. The silence felt like disappointment to him, now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck.
> 
> Peter fumbled with his keys, anxious to get inside his apartment, away from prying eyes and, more importantly, out of the damn rain. It took three tries before he finally managed to open the door, and he threw the set through the hallway with a sigh of frustration once he was inside. He wasn’t even sure why, but he’d felt personally rejected when Chris had turned down his offer to come up. He wasn’t surprised, per se, they’d barely been alone together except when handling a threat, Chris hadn’t even ever been in his apartment. Still, somehow this wasn’t how he had pictured his evening ending, alone and unsatisfied. Not that he’d pictured it, before. At all.

_Fuck._

Peter fumbled with his keys, anxious to get inside his apartment, away from prying eyes and, more importantly, out of the damn rain. It took three tries before he finally managed to open the door, and he threw the set through the hallway with a sigh of frustration once he was inside. He wasn’t even sure why, but he’d felt personally rejected when Chris had turned down his offer to come up. He wasn’t surprised, per se, they’d barely been alone together except when handling a threat, Chris hadn’t even ever been in his apartment. Still, somehow this wasn’t how he had pictured his evening ending, alone and unsatisfied. Not that he’d pictured it, before. At all.

He’d been staring at his phone more and more these last weeks, hoping for what Stiles, in his wisdom, would probably term a ‘booty call.’ He hadn’t failed to notice that Chris only called him for his less important patrols, for the cases where a bit of distraction wouldn’t prove instantly fatal. He refused to think about what it all meant. He poured himself a tall glass of red wine, drank it in one long gulp, and poured another. It wasn’t like he could get drunk, anyway. He turned on the TV and tried putting the hunter out of his mind. Mindlessly, he flipped through the channels, settled on a rerun of Moonlighting, and fell asleep on the couch.

He woke up to hearing birds chirp away outside his window, and every muscle in his body was stiff from lying at an awkward angle the whole night. He slowly started stretching his muscles, trying to get the aches out. Even though he had actively put Chris Argent out of his mind last night, his dreams had featured the hunter heavily — maybe _because_  he tried his hardest to ignore them. He only remembered bits and pieces since he’d been floating in and out of dreams all night, but he did recall enough to know that he had to deal with this.

He’d had dreams like this before, but usually they happened _after_  things had gotten hot and heavy during a stakeout. He could easily explain _those._  Not this time. They hadn’t just been sex dreams - not that he hadn’t enjoyed that part, Peter realised as he discovered that his pants were sticking to his front like a teenager’s after a wet dream - he remembered the two of them in a restaurant. On a _date_. Where on earth had _that_  come from? He’d never been the type to put much stock in dreams, but after his reaction the night before, he wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. He decided to do what he did best: ignore everything that confused him. Chris Argent was a fun distraction from the mundane routine, just an itch he wanted to scratch, nothing more.

Peter didn’t hear from Chris at all the following week, and with the lack of interaction his thoughts and dreams weren’t solely focused on the hunter anymore. He did have a life to live, without having to wonder about the possibility of finding somebody to share it with. It wouldn’t go away completely, though, there was always a small portion of his brain nagging him, and he grabbed his phone now and again, ready to call, but never pushed through. Even if he was ready to move things forward - which he absolutely was not, no sir, - he was pretty sure that Chris never looked at him like that, Peter was just some kind of adult playmate to him, a distraction. Nothing more than that. There was too much history between them, too much death and too many things gone unsaid.

Another week had passed before Chris sent a text, saying he needed help tracking a trail in the woods. Peter would never admit it, but he was looking forward to getting the chance for a do-over. The  short message said to meet Chris at the edge of the woods, and Chris was leaning against his SUV when Peter got there. He admired the view as he walked up between the trees, starting at Chris’s long legs and working his way up, lingering where his jeans hugged all the right parts, thinking the hunter hadn’t noticed him yet.

“Are you getting a good look, Hale?”

Damn, not as stealthy as he thought he was. “Hard not to when you’re putting it on display like that,” he replied, annoyed at himself for being caught out. Then again, hardly anything escaped the hunter’s eye.   

“Ready?” Chris was unimpressed. But then, he didn’t wait for a response and instead headed for the trees. They didn’t speak, both were too focused on finding any track marks, any scents. Suddenly Peter heard soft moaning coming from the direction they were headed towards.

“Chris, we should turn east.”

“What are you talking about, these tracks lead straight ahead, northbound. You do understand the whole idea of tracking, right?” Chris managed to _sound_  like he was rolling his eyes at the werewolf, without actually doing so.

“Well, my _excellent_  ears are picking up some sounds that I wouldn’t have minded _not_  hearing.”

“Peter, use your words.”

“Oh, come on, do I have to spell it out for you?” The look that Peter got said it all. “Clearly, I do. Look, there’s a couple up ahead and they’re about to get lucky.”

“Yeah, right. Because the woods are the best location for that.” Chris gave him a soft shove and carried on in their original direction. Peter was hanging back a few paces, not interested in catching them in the act, and trying to listen and smell for other activities, so he bumped right into Chris when the hunter stopped dead in his tracks.

“Told you. This is what happens when you don’t listen to your friendly neighbourhood werewolf tracker.”

At that moment a woman was evidently reaching her climax, as the moaning became louder and rose in pitch abruptly. Peter glanced over at Chris and saw his cheeks turning slightly red.

“Let’s move on, Peter,” he said with a strangled voice.

“Shouldn’t we stick around to make sure they’re safe? There’s other things that go bump in the night around here.”

“No! Come on.” He grabbed Peter’s elbow and pushed him forwards, just as the woman hit another high note.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” Peter said, knowing he shouldn’t.

Chris ignored him, walking away at a fast pace, even though the way he held himself made it clear that punching Peter was his first instinct. Trouble was, he _wanted_  to give Peter what she was having, the thought of Peter climaxing was one of many that got him through difficult situations these days (or into them, depending on who you asked). He could still easily recall one of their surveillance sessions in the car, and it hadn’t been the case that made it memorable. He didn’t even remember how they had started making out - beginnings were always fuzzy - but next thing Chris had known, Peter had been straddling his hips and Chris had managed to get Peter’s corduroys undone. He had slowly slid his hand in, and he hadn’t even had to help Peter much before he’d started to moan and then come into his hand.

“Earth to Mars, you still with me?” Peter pulled Chris back into the forest, whose pants were suddenly very tight. _Ugh,_  he thought to himself. This was precisely why he’d tried to block the memory. _Yup, Chris, that’s a boner, say hello. Well done,_  he mentally sniped at himself. His body had a habit of betraying him and this was definitely not the time or place to explain a boner in the woods, to a _werewolf_ , who probably already knew anyway, especially with the happy couple only a few feet away. He kept walking ahead of Peter, suddenly very interested in the branches and the leaves on the ground, even though he knew he couldn’t hide his elevated heart rate and the scent of his body’s reaction from him. Feigning ignorance would hopefully send a clear enough message that he didn’t want to talk about it. After five minutes he’d collected himself enough to be able to face him again.

“This is a dead end, let’s go back.” He quickly turned around, nearly making Peter bump into him again. He grabbed him by his shoulders and spun him so they both faced the same direction. He steered Peter towards a different path, avoiding running in to the lovebirds again. Once was enough. They reached the car quickly, and when Peter said goodbye uncharacteristically quickly, he left Chris standing with his keys in his hands and without any other option but to go home, alone.     

He drove around aimlessly for two hours, not wanting to return to an empty house. Without his family there - without Kate, Victoria, and most of all without Allison - it didn’t feel like a home to him anymore. He was good at ‘compartmentalizing his emotions,’ the training Gerard had drilled into him had taught him that, but the silence made all the walls crumble down. He had stayed at the Stilinskis’ those first weeks after Allison died, not able to set foot in his own apartment, and Stilinski (and Stiles) had understood, had helped the hunter regain his bearings, Stiles making sure he ate, his father distracting him with mundane cases with no supernatural influences whatsoever (just two plain murders and one robbery). Stilinski was there when he walked through the apartment door for the first times since, and they had sat on the couch and got drunk together and somehow Chris had survived that first night. He’d gotten better with time, but every now and then all the loss and sadness hit him and he had to get out. He always ended up crashing at the Stilinskis’, and tonight he found himself in the Sheriff’s street once again. He parked the car, got out and rang the doorbell. _Shit, it’s past midnight,_  he realised too late, but within minutes he heard the lock unlock and Stilinski opened the door.

“Hi, John, sorry about the time. Hope I didn’t wake you,” Chris said apologetically.

“I said day and night, it’s okay.” John let him in and locked the door behind him. “Anything wrong?”

“Ah, you know, empty chairs and empty tables.”

“Don’t go quoting musicals to me, Chris. Especially when they’re French.”

The hunter smiled a little. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. But it is a good summary of what’s wrong. The house just felt too empty, I couldn’t go back there.”

“Go back?” Stilinski looked at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “You went hunting?”

“Yes, I got a lead on something lurking in the woods. Peter and I checked it out, but we, ah… we ran into a couple having sex against a tree,” he finished in a rush, hoping that would save him some of the embarrassment.

“Wait, you did what?” John asked, clearly bewildered. “How did that even happen, with Peter there? Didn’t he pick up any scent, any sound, before you saw them?”

Chris blushed at the memory. “He did, and tried to steer us in the opposite direction, but I didn’t buy it. I mean, really, who in their right mind would have sex in a forest anyway?”

“I see. And how did that make you feel?”

“What is this, therapy?”

“You came here, Chris. Clearly there’s something on your mind you’re not telling me, so just say it.”

“You’re right, it’s just… Oh, I don’t know. Must be seeing those two, feeling the love, and having Peter right there, of all people…”

The sheriff nodded, understanding. Chris’s insides twisted, knowing full well that he wasn’t giving John the full story, and that perhaps he wouldn’t let it go so easily if he had. Then again, he probably had Chris figured out enough to know to just leave it, even if he did suspect that there was more to it than what Chris was telling him. “You know where to find the spare bedroom. We can talk later, if you want.”

“Thanks,” he walked to the stairs. “Goodnight.” He went up to the spare bedroom, took off his leather jacket and boots and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Chris woke up after an uneventful slumber, momentarily confused about his surroundings until he remembered the night before and ending up at the Stilinskis’ house. He walked downstairs and found Stiles in the kitchen, making coffee. “Morning, sir, want a cup?”

“Morning, Stiles. Thanks, that’d be great. Has your dad left already?”

“No, I’m here all day if you need me,” Chris heard coming from the living room. He took the cup from Stiles and walked over to find John reading the paper on the couch.

“So, about last night…” Chris started as he sat down in the armchair to John’s left, but trailed off when he realised he had no idea how to explain any of it without making an even bigger fool of himself.

“What did Peter say?” the Sheriff interrupted his train of thought.

“Huh?” Yes, very eloquent, but Chris was too busy replaying last night’s conversation in his mind to check if he’d somehow managed to give himself away.

“Well, he can’t have been too happy about your stubbornness after he tried to warn you that what you were closing in on wasn’t exactly a threat to life and limb of the innocent population of Beacon Hills…,” John elaborated, and had the gall to sound inordinately amused.

“You were hunting last night?!” Chris turned in his seat to see Stiles in the doorway, slice of buttered toast halfway to his mouth, now gaping open in indignation. “Ugh, I’m gonna beat Scott over the head with his own stupid Lacrosse stick! I told him not to keep leaving me out of these things, I’m fine, I’m totally and 100 percent—”

“Stiles!” Chris interrupted Stiles’s rant with a firm shout of his name, and heard the Sheriff snort behind him. “No-one left you out of anything, it was just me.”

“And Peter,” John added helpfully from behind his newspaper.

“And Peter,” Chris conceded wearily.

“Oh. Ok. No beating up Scott, then, that’s a bonus. Not that I could do a lot of damage anyway, I swear he’s grown another size since he started training with Derek for real. Have you _seen_  those arms? And—wait. Peter? You were hunting with _Peter_?”

“Yeah. He helps me tracking sometimes,” Chris tried to deflect the real question written in Stiles’ incredulous expression.

“Well, yeah. I mean, it makes sense, you track the ground, he scents the air, perfect team work… I guess I’m just surprised you’ve both made it back alive so far,” Stiles finished with a little snort and took a bite of his breakfast, shrugging. Behind the paper, John sighed at the blatant tactlessness, but otherwise remained silent. Suddenly, Stiles’s eyes went wide. “ _Oh_  my god!” he exclaimed around his mouthful of toast. “That’s what Scott was talking about! Only sometimes, are you sure?”

“What is this about, Stiles?” the Sheriff’s face appeared, shooting Stiles a warning look — the kind of look that gave Chris the uncomfortable impression that he definitely knew more than he was letting on. Damn.

“Well, just — Scott mentioned a different scent on Peter, he just couldn’t place it, just that it smelt a lot like hunter, and, well, it couldn’t have been Mr Argent, right? And we didn’t want to ask Derek because, well. But, uh, I guess he might know, because… oh,” even as Stiles spoke, he seemed to realise that he was walking down a road he really didn’t want to get to the end of, so he trailed off with a little wince.

“Stiles?” John’s voice was patient and just a little amused, well-acquainted as he was with his son’s ramblings.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and get yourself to school?”

“Sure thing, dad.” Obviously grateful for the chance to get the hell out of dodge, Stiles turned on his heel and vanished from the doorway.

“And keep this to yourself!” the Sheriff called after him, but all they heard in response was the front door closing with a thud.

Chris turned back around, feeling oddly like an anvil had just hit him in the chest. Reluctantly, he looked over at John, who was looking back at him, seeming for all the world only mildly exasperated.

“I...” Chris started, but he trailed off before saying anything. He wasn’t sure how to respond, he always dealt with his issues on his own first, before talking to anyone. Even if John did suspect that there was something going on between him and Peter, he would never admit it now. He drained his, now cold, cup of coffee, and got up. “Thanks for letting me crash and the coffee. I’ve, uh, I’ve got a meeting in town,” he winced a little at his unoriginal lie, but he had to get out.

“Sure, any time. It’s what friends do.” John got up as well, and walked with him to the door. “Don’t let your head make all the decisions, Chris.” 

John’s last words stayed with Chris the entire drive home. Was it just to do with who he chose as his hunting partner, or did Stilinski know he was dealing with more than just that? Chris shook his head at himself. He couldn’t have developed feelings for Peter, it was just impossible. Argents and Hales were like oil and water, they didn’t mix. It was just physical. _Yes, keep repeating that, that will help,_  his thoughts were betraying him. He walked up the stairs in lieu of the elevator, hoping the movement would take his mind off the werewolf. He reached his apartment and noticed a note sticking to the door. He ripped it off when the lock clicked and the door swung open, and recognised the handwriting. _Peter._  He scanned the paper quickly. It was a quick apology for leaving him so fast last night, and that he would make it up to the hunter — nothing special, really, and yet Chris’ mind started reeling. What, did that mean that Peter had come over, first thing in the morning - or maybe even late last night? Did he come here to find Chris? And for what? To talk, to take what they had started in the confines of stakeouts in Chris’ car and… follow through? He wasn’t sure what stunned him more, the whole idea of Peter coming over to apologize, or the fact that he really wanted to have him there. That it wasn’t a physical response to the appealing appearance of the wolf. He slammed his fist on the floor.

_Damn it._  He knew he should never have let it come this far, but by now he was in too deep. He only saw one solution: he had to stay away from Peter Hale until he had himself under control. It was the only way to keep him safe. To keep them both safe.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris was determined to stay far away from Peter, but he realised the next day that this would be even harder than anticipated, for more than emotional reasons. Scott had called him, asking for his help. That usually meant pack issues, and pack — meant Peter. He considered just telling Scott he couldn’t be there, but he didn’t want to hurt the tentative friendship they had been building since they’d lost Allison. The Alpha had accepted his offer to be allies, fighting the same fights, but there wasn’t enough trust on either side yet to start saying no to the pack without a good reason, so he went over to the McCall house at six that night. It would be fine. Not like he’d be alone in a room with Peter, Scott would be there as well. Chris ignored that little voice inside his head reminding him that Scott was only a kid, and hardly the right person to be thrown into the middle of whatever was happening with him and Peter.

Chris was determined to stay far away from Peter, but he realised the next day that this would be even harder than anticipated, for more than emotional reasons. Scott had called him, asking for his help. That usually meant pack issues, and pack — meant Peter. He considered just telling Scott he couldn’t be there, but he didn’t want to hurt the tentative friendship they had been building since they’d lost Allison. The Alpha had accepted his offer to be allies, fighting the same fights, but there wasn’t enough trust on either side yet to start saying no to the pack without a good reason, so he went over to the McCall house at six that night. It would be fine. Not like he’d be alone in a room with Peter, Scott would be there as well. Chris ignored that little voice inside his head reminding him that Scott was only a kid, and hardly the right person to be thrown into the middle of whatever was happening with him and Peter.  

“Hi, Melissa,” Chris started when the door opened. “Scott called.”

“Yes, I know. They’re in the living room,” Scott’s mom said when she let him in. Chris walked on, and found Scott, Derek, Stiles and Peter in the middle of a heated discussion. They didn’t stop talking when he came into the room, but Scott acknowledged him with a short nod. All that he could figure out from their interrupted exclamations was that there was some sort of threat that had to be dealt with as fast as possible. Eventually, he had enough.

“Guys!” he cut through the raised voices. “I’m here to help, but you gotta explain to me what’s going on,” he added when they quietened abruptly and turned towards him.

“Sorry, Mister Argent. We have a bird problem.”

Chris inhaled sharply and stayed quiet for a moment. “Birds? Really?” His jaw muscles ticked, and a vein in his temple started to throb. He narrowed his eyes — surely they’d brought him in for something more unusual than feathered animals.  

“Not just birds, obviously. Stymphalian birds,” Stiles said, like that explained it all.

Chris took another deep breath to stay calm, resisted the urge to run a hand through his short hair, instead reigning in his impatience. “Stiles, I’m going to need more than that.”

Stiles drew breath to start explaining, but Peter beat him to it. “Man-eating birds, bronze beaks and metallic feathers. Live in swamps. Highly reproductive, apparently.”

“Ah. Yes, that’s a problem. Any casualties?”

“None of them deadly so far. Oh, and their shit is toxic,” Stiles added.

“Of course it is. Got an idea as to how to get rid of this flock of birds?”

“That’s what we were discussing when you walked in,” Scott explained. “I suggested seeing Dr. Deaton for a potion to knock them out while they’re gathered in the swamp, and then bring them out of town.”

Chris shook his head. “They’ll just return, only more pissed off than they are now.”

Peter nodded in agreement. “That’s why we should just kill them when they’re down,” he said. “Easy enough for a couple of wolves.”

“Not in the swamp, it isn’t. But you’re right. Stiles?”

“Yes, sir?”

“How’s your aim?” Chris asked.

“Good enough, why?” Stiles asked, drawing out the last word, trying to figure out what Chris was getting at. “Care to share with the class?”

“We’ll get as close to the swamp as we can, and Scott, Derek and Peter can frighten them into the air with their howls. Once they’re up, we will shoot every single one. Shoot to kill.”   

“Sounds like a plan to me. Um, everyone with a gun should probably pair up with a wolf or two, right, to make the birds easier targets and in case anything happens?” Scott looked at Stiles for confirmation. At the boy’s nod, Scott glanced at the others in the room. “Ok, so, Stiles can go with Derek and me. Mr Argent, are you okay with teaming up with Peter?”

Chris stared at Scott, then at Stiles, and back to Scott. _Fuck._  Had Stiles told him? Chris was fairly sure he had. The main question was, what did Stiles think he knew? Chris knew that he had no choice. “Sure, fine by me.” He made sure to avoid Peter’s eyes, whose stare he felt drilling into the side of his head.

“Great, Stiles, Derek, and I will start on the north side, you two can start south.” Immediately, Scott started to get up, with Derek grabbing his jacket off the back of the sofa.

“Right now?” Chris tried to keep his heart rate steady, although he might be able to explain it to the werewolves as getting ready for the hunt, but started to panic. This was the complete opposite of his plan, he couldn’t be alone with Peter, not yet. He wasn’t ready.

“Ehm… Yes, not a good idea to let man-eating birds stick around any longer than necessary,” Stiles answered. “You got somewhere else to be?”

Chris stared at Stiles, who started to look like he wished he hadn’t said anything, taking a step backwards, gazing at his shoes. “Let’s go,” he grumbled at Peter as he walked out. He felt the wolf close behind him, but he kept ahead of him until they reached the car.    

“Are you going to avoid looking at me all day? That doesn’t sound like a good hunting plan,” Peter broke the silence, sounding almost pleading. “Look, I’m sorry I left so suddenly, okay? I left you a note.” He flashed back to their last hunt. He’d left Chris at his car because he’d been horny and confused, but he couldn’t very well tell the hunter that. At his apartment, he’d sat down on his couch, mentally slapping himself for being such an idiot. After a few hours, he couldn’t get the idea out of his mind that he had to apologize for his behaviour, so he went over to Argent’s apartment, preparing his speech on the way over. He ended up leaving the note after pounding on the door for ten minutes, even calling Chris’ name to get him to open up - which he would never admit. He had gone over all the possible scenarios why Chris wasn’t at home, and he hadn’t liked any of them. Who had he been with?

“It’s alright, Hale. Just get in the car.”

As they got inside, Peter took a sniff. Something was different. He took a deep breath, trying to pick up the scent. It only took him a few seconds. Stilinski. He hadn’t expected this, and it felt like a punch to the gut. He could sense Chris’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look back. He couldn’t. So that’s where he was when he wasn’t home, when he wasn’t with Peter — with the Sheriff.

Of course, Chris noticed that Peter was scenting him, and his face told him all he needed to know. Peter knew. _Shit._  He wasn’t surprised that the wolf figured out where he’d spent the night, but it was also clear that he didn’t like it. That _was_  a surprise. “I just didn’t want to be alone,” he explained. He was kicking himself, but he didn’t want any friction in the pack, so he told Peter. “I spent a lot of time at the Stilinskis’ after Allison’s death because I couldn’t handle the silence in the apartment, and John lets me crash there when everything gets too much.”

Peter’s eyes snapped to Chris’ and his face dropped, and in a way it reminded Chris of a sad puppy. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should have… I don’t know. I just… I’m sorry.”

“He’s just a friend. Nothing happened.” Another kick, but Chris said it before he had time to think about it.

Peter stared out of the window. He was reading too much into the hunter’s words. Slowly he turned towards him. “What do you mean?”

Chris sighed. “Nothing happened. What else do you need to know?”

 _Everything,_  Peter thought. “And what are we?”

Another sigh. “I’m not sure.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but are we friends with benefits?” He studied Chris’ face, who squinted his eyes at him. “Or are we more?”

“Does it matter? We can’t… _I_  can’t put you in that position. Everybody I’ve let in has died. Kate, Victoria, Allison… I’m not ready to have anybody else on that list.”

Peter stared at him for a moment, and nodded. He understood all too well what the hunter meant. He had his own list. “It’s okay, I get it. But please tell me we can keep the benefits? Maybe even take it outside the car?”

For a long moment, all Chris could do was stare right back. “You would… you would want that?”

Peter dared a small smile. “Of course. Life’s short, and you are hot.”

Chris couldn’t help it, he laughed, belly-deep and freely.

The wolf grinned, but then he laid his hand on Chris’ arm, squeezing lightly. “Hey. I’ll be here if any of that changes. You know that, right?”

Chris nodded. He knew. “Where do you want to start?”

“Right now? Oh, I don’t care… Dinner?”

“I meant Scott’s problem.” Chris glared at Peter, but softened when he noticed the mischievous look in the wolf’s human eyes. “We could do dinner after, though.”

Peter moved his hand slowly over Chris’s arm until he reached his neck and softly pulled him closer. “I’m sure the trio can handle it,” he murmured and started nibbling the hunter’s ear lobe. Chris let out a moan, but sighed right after.

“Peter.” His tone revealed that stopping the wolf was the last thing on his mind, but he still got the words out. “We promised. He wouldn’t have called if he didn’t need help.” Peter was kissing his jaw line, and Chris turned his head to find the wolf’s lips and pulled him into a long kiss that left them both panting. “Something to keep you going,” he teased, while he started the car and headed to the border of the swamp.  

“Fine, let’s kill these things and have dinner.”

They reached the swamp and the squawking of the birds was deafening. _Definitely a problem,_  Chris thought. He hoped that Stiles was a better shot than he knew, otherwise they’d be here for a while. He got a text from Stiles, they were at the other end. “Ready?” He looked over at Peter, and saw a wolf where the man had been a second ago. “Let’s hunt for food.”

Peter carefully put one paw forward, testing the grounds, and stopped when he started to sag into the mud. He looked over at Chris, who had got a gun in each hand, ready to shoot anything with feathers, and started howling. There was an immediate flurry of flapping, and Chris started shooting. Peter tried to bite as many birds as he could that flew into his direction, and they were hitting many. They heard Scott and Derek howling as well, and birds started dropping like flies on the other side of the flock as well.

Just as Peter thought that they were clearly winning, he heard a grunt coming from Chris’s direction. His head snapped towards the hunter and he saw that he was on the ground, with two birds pecking at him. Their bronze beaks had torn through the jacket and shirt, and were working on his flesh. He growled and leapt towards him to tear one of the birds’ head from its body. The other flew away before he could attack. He spent the remainder of the charge fighting off those that came close to Chris, who was still shooting birds with his one good arm, but it was the left, so he wasn’t as accurate anymore. It felt like forever before it quieted down, but eventually it seemed like they got them all. Peter turned back into his human form and straddled the hunter. “Are you okay?”

“They’re just flesh wounds. Nothing major.” Chris smiled. Something about seeing Peter so worried for him made him feel better than the situation warranted. “You can play nurse for me, if you like.” Peter lightly punched him on his uninjured shoulder. “Ow, okay, maybe I’m not completely fine.”

“So, that’s not a gun in your pocket then,” Peter teased while getting up. “Come on, we’re going to go to mine, it’s closer.” He put out his hand to help Chris up and let him lean against his side. Together they slowly walked towards the car. The wolf helped the hunter into the passenger seat and held up his hand for the car key. Chris scowled at him. He didn’t like being the passenger, but he gave him what he was asking for.

“Onwards, Rick.” He sagged a little in his seat, trying to get more comfortable, but there was no point. The birds got him good, his right shoulder and his right side were bleeding heavily. He tried lifting up his shirt to get a better look, but Peter put his hand on his arm, stopping him before he could.

“Trust me, you don’t want to look at that before we’ve got you cleaned up.”

“Sorry about dinner,” Chris started, trying to take his mind off the pain he felt now that the adrenalin started to wear off.

“You won’t get rid of me that easily, Argent,” Peter teased. “Even if we end up ordering pizza, you and I will have dinner together tonight.”

Chris smiled. “ _That_  I can do.”

“Try not to move so much, will you?” Peter complained after he had managed to get Chris up the stairs and on the couch of his apartment. “This will only hurt more if you keep wriggling around.”

“Oh, bite me,” Chris snapped, through gritted teeth, while Peter helped him out of his jacket.

“You know, that wouldn’t be such a bad idea,” the wolf teased. “It would clear up these nasty wounds in a jiffy.”

Chris glared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Too hairy for my taste,” he joked, slowly taking off his shirt. He noticed Peter’s sharp inhale and he quickly tried to look at his side, but he couldn’t twist far enough without aggravating the cuts. “That bad?” he asked with a worried glance back up at Peter’s face.

But that wasn’t why Peter had stopped breathing for a moment. He just hadn’t expected Chris to be so toned, so muscular. He knew the hunter was fit - he’d been exploring his body freely over the last months during their midnight meetups, but that had always been in a car, with poor lighting, and shirts hadn’t come off, - but seeing made him realise just _how_  good Chris looked. Even covered in his own blood. _Down, boy,_  he warned himself, _now isn’t the time._  “I’ll grab some bandaids for those,” was all he managed to say, and he walked to the bathroom. 

“Bring some iodine too, this needs more than a bandaid,” Chris called towards the closing door.

Peter leaned on the sink and stared in the mirror. “Get it together, man,” he told his reflection. “Stop acting like a love-struck teenager, you’ve seen naked people before.” Chris was injured, needed his help, and Peter hated that he was so starved for contact that he couldn’t keep his wits about himself enough not to lust after him even now. _Not. the time,_  he reminded himself again. Then, he grabbed iodine and bandages from the cabinet.

He returned to an empty couch. He dropped the boxes, wheeled around, eyes wide and searching, and saw Chris in the kitchen. “What the hell, man, get your ass back to the couch, now!”

“We needed hot water to clean these wounds before closing them. Just helping out,” Chris said, putting his hands up in surrender walking back to Peter.

“I know what I need, just let me do it, okay?” He growled, trying to recover from the completely irrational moment of panic there.

Chris felt a pang in his heart seeing Peter’s expression. “Sorry.” He touched the wolf’s arm as they both sat down. “I’m used having to do this on my own.”

Peter’s anger deflated as quickly as it had appeared. “This time you’ve got me,” he reassured him. “I’m not going anywhere.” He brought the hot water in, as well as some fresh towels, and started cleaning the wounds. Chris had been right, nothing major had been pecked at, but all those jabs at his side had resulted in a lot of impressively nasty cuts. “This is going to hurt, are you ready?” He shook the bottle of iodine in front of Chris’s face.

Chris carefully leaned back on the couch. “I think I need a drink to drown the sting. Do you have anything in?”

Peter grinned, and got up. “All out of Scotch, but I do have some red wine,” he suggested, as he walked to the cabinet.

“I’ll take what I can get.”

Peter handed Chris the bottle and waited until he had some wine in him before going to work, disinfecting every mark on the hunter’s side. He methodically administered iodine to each and covered them up using all the bandages in the box. “I need to reset your shoulder.”

“What do you mean,” Chris turned his head to look closer at his right shoulder. “I thought my side was where the most damage was.”

“Maybe that’s the biggest area, but I can actually see your clavicle, and it’s slightly dislocated.”

Chris groaned and took another gulp of wine. This was going to hurt. “I’m going to need something stronger before you - OUCH! What the hell!” Peter had put his full weight on the hunter’s shoulder, resetting it while Chris was talking.

He gave him a smile. “Sorry, I always find it best to just get it over with.” He kissed the joint and went to get some ice. “You better not use that for a while, I’ll see if I can find you something we can turn into a sling.”

“Thanks.” Chris followed the wolf with his eyes, _that’s a great pair of jeans,_  he thought. He was feeling a lot better, bandaged and being taken care of, and their conversation earlier in the evening came floating back to him. “How about that pizza?”

“After fixing you up, you _also_  expect me to make dinner?” Peter teased, putting the ice pack on Chris’s shoulder. Chris grabbed his shirt with his left arm, pulling him so close that the wolf was lying half on top of him, and kissed him hard. Peter gave into the kiss, and climbed on top of the hunter, careful not to put too much pressure on his right side.

“Well, you’re the one who promised we’d have dinner tonight,” Chris murmured when they came up for air. “And I’m actually starving. Saving the world makes for a healthy appetite.”

Peter sniggered -- he was pretty sure that killing some supernatural birds that threatened the town didn’t count as saving the world, even if they were the man-eating kind. “Fine, but we’ve got to stop this,” he gestured at their joint bodies, “because the place will know something’s up if I call them completely out of breath.”

Chris looked mischievously. “Then you better make that call quickly.” Peter wriggled away a little to get his phone out of his pocket. “Especially if you keep grinding me like that,” Chris added, which earned him a soft shove on his shoulder. “Ow, injured person here, remember,” he chuckled. Peter ordered two large pizzas - no pepperoni or garlic. _How considerate,_  he thought, while he silently blessed the wolf’s love for deep v-necks and loose collars, kissing every inch of Peter’s exposed skin that was within his reach.

“Okay, they’ll be here in twenty minutes.” He threw the phone on the chair next to the couch and started trailing the water that had started to drip from the ice pack with his tongue, working his way up from the hunter’s elbow to his shoulder, barely touching the skin.

“Oh, we’re going to need a lot more than twenty minutes if you keep using your tongue like that.”

Peter sighed, but stopped chasing the drops. He slid half off, ending up sandwiched between the backrest and Chris. “We need to be able to open the door. Gotta keep that place on our side, best slices in Beacon Hills,” he joked. He took a few gulps of air to cool down, but the scent of aroused hunter so closeby wasn’t helping him at all. He surrendered and clambered from the couch to clear his head. Chris knew that he would’ve been able to stop him from getting up, but he really was hungry and he was certain they wouldn’t be able to do anything, the way they had been riding each other.

“You’re right. And we don’t want to give the town gossip mill any ideas.”

“That too. We’ll keep this just between us for now.”

“You mean us and the pack,” Chris reminded Peter. “Scott’s smelled me on you, and it’s very likely Derek has as well.”

Peter nodded, he knew. Their secret was safe with the pack, they were family. He was startled when the doorbell rang, so focused on Chris that he hadn’t even smelled the melted cheese. He quickly walked to the door, paid the delivery boy and inhaled deeply, making his stomach rumble. He saw Chris trying to get up when he turned around. “You,” he warned, “don’t get off that couch.”

Chris immediately fell back into the couch. “I wouldn’t dare, sir.” He winked. “Do I have permission to sit up straight? Or will you feed me?”

Peter paused for a moment, as he considered that option. “Seeing how well you seemed to be a moment ago, I will let you do that,” he grinned. He was sure that Chris could get him to do a lot, but hand-feeding the man wasn’t one of them.

They sat side by side, eating in an easy silence. Chris glanced at Peter, and noticed how a lot of tension seemed to have disappeared from his shoulders for the night. He would’ve liked to be able to take credit for that, that the weight Chris had felt lifted during their conversation had lifted for Peter as well, but he knew that the wolf always had more trouble on his mind. “Want to watch a movie?” Okay, not what he wanted to ask, but it was too soon for more confessions.

Peter let out a sudden howl of laughter. “Dinner and a movie, we really have moved on from the car.”

“Well, we can also go sit in the car, if you prefer. I just won’t be of much use in there tonight.”

“No, I like this. It’s always too dark in that car, I like to admire my dates.” He got up and walked to the shelf with movies. “I’ve got Star Wars, Trainspotting, Saw, or Vertigo,” he read out loud, skipping titles like Gone with the Wind and Chaos Theory, no need to give away all of his guilty pleasures for now.

“Hitchcock sounds good to me.” He watched Peter start it up, and looked mildly offended when the other man moved towards a chair. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“You’re so easy,” Peter grinned, walking back towards the couch. He sat down in front, leaning on Chris’s legs. He was trying to give the hunter time to rest, to heal, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that if he was within easy reach. Part of him was quietly berating him, but it was for the best. Chris realised what Peter was doing, not sitting next to him. His side was really starting to hurt, now that the adrenaline had worn off, he had had enough excitement for one evening.    

“Do you have any aspirin? Everything hurts.”

“Oh god, I should’ve given you something the moment we got here. Hold on.”

When Peter returned, Chris gratefully accepted the bottle of water, took some pills, and then carefully slid off the couch so he was next to Peter on the floor, thigh to thigh.  

“And what are _you_  doing?” Peter asked with a sidelong glance at Chris as he settled himself.

“Levelling the playing field.”

Peter drew an unimpressed eyebrow. “Get back on the couch, you idiot. As much care as I have taken in choosing this carpet, it’s not that fluffy. Up, up!”

Chris had to bite back a laugh as Peter actually made shooing motions at him with his hands. “You’ve had a rough night, too. C’mon, both or neither.”

Frowning a little, Peter held Chris’ gaze for a few seconds. Eventually, he nodded. “Fine.” Hauling himself up, Peter helped Chris stand. He was about to move to leave Chris the left side of the sofa and move himself to the right, but then Chris’ hand circled his wrist.

“Hang on,” the hunter said, tugging at Peter until he sat down on Chris’ left, leaning against the armrest. Then, Peter’s breath nearly stopped when Chris moved until he in turn was leaning against Peter, listing sideways until he let out a relieved sigh through his nose once the pressure of holding himself up was gone from the right side of his ribcage.

“I see how it is,” Peter teased once he had his breath back. He spared them both the obligatory stating of the obvious in favour of lifting his right arm and carefully draping it over the back of the couch rather than letting the weight rest on Chris’ injured shoulder. Chris settled more comfortably against him, leaning his head back into the warmth provided by Peter’s upper arm.

“Shh, movie’s starting,” Chris mock-glared at him from the side. Peter grinned, then turned his head to pay attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen the Wolfsbane 2013 panel with JR Bourne, Melissa Ponzio and Linden Ashby too often, and suddenly the part where they're joking about needing a nurse fit too well in the fic and I just couldn't resist


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter awoke on the couch, every muscle stiff from sleeping with his limbs arranged at awkward angles — arranged around the sleeping form of an Argent. Ugh, I really gotta stop doing this, he thought, trying to stretch without waking Chris. It was still dark outside, and he looked very peaceful. Unfortunately, it was impossible to move, being squished between the armrest and the hunter, and Peter felt more than saw that the other man was waking up.
> 
> “What’s wrong?” Peter heard him mumble, his voice gravelly and sleep-drunk.
> 
> “Nothing, just go back to sleep.” Remembering Chris’s injuries, he added, “Actually, you should take my bed, might be more comfortable than using me as a mattress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split the last chapter in two, it's getting so long!

Peter awoke on the couch, every muscle stiff from sleeping with his limbs arranged at awkward angles — arranged around the sleeping form of an Argent. _Ugh, I really gotta stop doing this,_  he thought, trying to stretch without waking Chris. It was still dark outside, and he looked very peaceful. Unfortunately, it was impossible to move, being squished between the armrest and the hunter, and Peter felt more than saw that the other man was waking up.

“What’s wrong?” Peter heard him mumble, his voice gravelly and sleep-drunk.

“Nothing, just go back to sleep.” Remembering Chris’s injuries, he added, “Actually, you should take my bed, might be more comfortable than using me as a mattress.”

“We spend one night together and you’re already trying to get me in your bed? You don’t waste time, do you, Hale,” Chris joked, even as he tried to get up. The soaring pain in his side made him stumble, and Peter quickly got up to help him stand.

“I need you fully functioning when I’ll join you, so this is just me playing nurse. On your request, remember?” He walked him into the bedroom. “For now, I’ll stick to the couch. Any breakfast wishes?”

Chris stared at Peter, not sure if it was a genuine question. “Coffee and a bagel,” he said, as he sat down on the bed. He tested the mattress and had to agree with Peter, this would be much better for his side. “Goodnight, Peter. And thanks.”

“Don’t ruin the sheets, Chris,” Peter quipped. He walked back to the couch, which suddenly looked too big without Chris on it. _Damn._  He looked at his bedroom door, and saw Chris struggle with getting his shoes off. He wanted to turn around and help, and get into bed with him. _Just to sleep,_  he tried to convince himself. _The bed is big enough for two._  He took a deep sigh and inhaled the hunter’s scent, which immediately made it clear that the couch was the wiser choice. He listened to Chris lying down on the bed, heard the soft groan as he tried to find a good position that would ease the strain on his right side, and waited until the hunter’s breathing evened out before attempting sleep himself.     

Chris woke up a few hours later, and it took him a moment before he remembered that Peter brought him to the bed after they had fallen asleep on the couch. He slowly pushed himself up and scanned the room, pausing when he saw a big pinewood, Renaissance style dresser. All the furniture was white and minimalistic, except for that one, not exactly inconspicuous, item. Not what he expected to find in Peter’s place - not that he had pictured the wolf’s living accommodations before. He heard the door being pushed open, and quickly turned around. Too quickly, his right side complained because of the sudden movement. “Good morning.”

Peter smiled and took a step forward.”I heard you were waking up, thought I’d check on my patient. And that,” he pointed to the dresser, “is a family heirloom.”

Chris hesitated, not wanting to stir up bad memories. “How did you… There wasn’t anything left in that house that wasn’t burnt by the fire.”

“I didn’t. It’s not the same one.” A shadow passed over Peter’s face, remembering the past. “But it reminded me of Talia’s, so I bought it.”

Chris nodded. He didn’t pretend to understand how Peter felt, but it made sense to him to keep things close that reminded you of better times. “Is that coffee I smell?” He got out of bed, trying to bring Peter back to the present.

“It’s the one part of your breakfast order I can take care of. Sorry, no bagels. We can go out for some, if you like?”

“Can we go by my place first? I really need a clean shirt,” he said, trying to get his bloodied and ripped one back on.

Peter walked to his closet, and grabbed a hoodie. “Here, wear this for now.” He zipped it open and held it up so the hunter could easily slip into the left sleeve, and he draped it carefully over his right shoulder.

“Thanks.”

“Just… I _do_  want that back,” Peter joked, walking to the kitchen. He suddenly turned around, and Chris nearly bumped into him.

“What?” Chris asked, confused about the move. “Did you hear something?”

“No.” Peter stepped further into Chris’s space, smiling, then leaned in to kiss him, long and gentle. “Just wanted to say good morning properly.”

\--

“Chris?” Melissa McCall tapped on Chris’s shoulder while he was in line to order. “What are you doing here? This doesn’t seem like your usual breakfast place.”

Her surprise at running into him here was obvious - which was the exact reason why he had suggested this restaurant to Peter when he had gotten dressed. It wasn’t a place either of them often went, so it was less likely they’d be recognized there. He turned around to talk, and his eyes darted to the table where the werewolf was waiting for him, but Peter was scanning the place and didn’t seem to have noticed Melissa yet. “Oh, you know, a change of scenery does wonders. It’s good to get out sometimes.” He felt bad lying to her, but he couldn’t tell her why he was here, not while he was on a _date_  with Hale. He wasn’t even sure he was willing to admit it _was_  a date.

Melissa smiled and touched his arm, and it was oddly comforting. “I’m happy to see you out and about.”  

“You’re a regular here? What’s good?” Chris had reached the front of the line, happy to order.

“Nah, but they make the best burgers. I was going to surprise John at the station, his shift is almost done.”

He smiled at her. “You’re too good for him.” He turned to give his order. “Pancakes and coffee, please.” He mouthed _make that two,_  hoping that Melissa wouldn’t notice, and got an understanding nod from the girl behind the counter.

“I know,” she winked. “But the heart wants what the heart wants. Good things happen when you listen to it from time to time.”

Chris stared at her. _Did John say anything? Did she see Peter?_ His eyes flicked back to the table, and Peter looked right at them, clearly listening in on their conversation. “It’s hard to keep listening when everybody keeps dying on you, trust me. It’s better when I’m alone.”

“Oh, honey, not everybody dies. You know that. John is still here, I’m still here, and Derek and Scott, most of the pack...”

He nodded his head. “I know, but you know that’s not what I meant.” Chris wanted the conversation to end before his order was up, but he couldn’t just cut her off. Not even if that meant opening up in a diner, where everybody and their mother could listen in.

Melissa slowly nodded her head. She understood. Even with the pack being as close as family, losing your wife and your daughter so quickly after each other was something completely different. “It’s been six months since you lost her, Chris. It’s okay to think about moving on. Allison wouldn’t want you to stop living because she’s gone.”   

Chris fixed his gaze to the floor. He felt guilty for letting her believe he was still not able to handle Allison’s death that well. He knew she was right, but there was carrying on living and then there was sleeping with the enemy. And being with Peter was as close to an enemy an Argent could get. _No, he isn’t an enemy. Remember the code,_  he told himself.

“Promise me you won’t let your past control your future, Chris.” She took the bag with her order from the bar tender. “Do it for Allison. She fought for a better place, don’t let her fight have been for nothing.”

He breathed a deep sigh. “I’m trying, Melissa. I am.”

She smiled at him. “I’ve got to take these to John, don’t want them to be cold when I arrive. You know where to find me if you want to talk.” She turned around, waved over her shoulder and walked past Peter on her way out. “Oh! Hi, Peter,” she said. “Can you do me a favour and sit with Chris? I don’t want to leave him alone.” She left before he could reply.

Chris waited at the bar until she was out the door before returning to Peter. “Hey there, handsome. I’ve been told I have to sit with you by Mama McCall. Can’t disobey her, you don’t want me to get into trouble, do you?” Peter teased. “What did she want?”

“Like you didn’t listen to every word of that,” Chris smiled and sat down, touching Peter’s knee with his. They didn’t move until their food was brought, knee to knee, just enjoying the silence and each other’s company. Melissa had been right, the burgers were amazing, and they spent their lunch talking about the fight from the night before, about past threats and possible future threats. It was their version of small talk.

\--

Peter’s apartment felt empty after spending twenty-four hours with Chris in such close proximity. Peter had driven them round to Chris’s own apartment after their breakfast, and had made sure the hunter had everything he needed to rest and heal. He had hesitated for a moment, wanting to take Chris with him again because it was clear that he really didn’t want to take it easy, but he knew that that wasn’t a good idea. As much as he wanted them to be together, this would only push Chris away. He had suggested calling Melissa instead, and Chris had agreed. She had promised she would come by after her shift, to see how he was doing.

Reluctantly, Peter had left the Argent apartment, not sure what to do next. He had ended up at Derek’s loft, crashing in on Derek and Scott planning how to show a new pack that had arrived in town Beacon Hills that they had to go back to where they came from.

“No rest for the wicked,” Peter joked. “Seriously, Derek? Plotting a fight without calling the grownups? Haven’t you learnt anything by now?” He shook his head disapprovingly at his nephew.

“No, we need a small pack. Since you’re here…” Derek took a step to the side to let Peter see what they had laid out on the table. There was a family tree - small, seemed like there were just two generations - and a list with the other wolves of the pack. Ten wolves in total.

“You were planning on fighting ten adult wolves? With all the back-up of two?”

“Three now,” Scott said. “Unless you leave us alone right now.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but didn’t move. “Fine, when do you want to do this?”

“In three days, the day after the full moon. They’ll be at their weakest,” Derek explained.

“So will we,” Peter interjected, walking to the couch. “How is that an advantage?”

Derek immediately started explaining their plan, but Peter wasn’t really listening. He felt all energy drain from his body, and started to nod off.

“Peter!” Derek suddenly yelled, only inches from his face. Peter startled awake, and scrambled backwards on the couch.

“What… What happened?” Peter asked, confusion in his voice. Derek’s stare said it all. He had fallen asleep on his nephew’s couch, all through the grand master plan.

“You’re talking in your sleep, man,” Scott laughed. Peter narrowed his eyes at the young alpha. “Nothing concrete, just some mumbling, but you were having a good time. And I mean a -”

“Alright, alright,” Peter stopped him. “No need to spell it out.” It was a good thing they didn’t push any further.

“Clearly you had a rough night,” Scott guessed.

“Yeah, I was making sure that Chris was okay after that bird attack,” he explained.   

“And since you’re not as young as you like to thi--” Scott stopped short when Peter glared at him. He cleared his throat and continued, "I think it's best for all of us if you went home and got some sleep.”

“I see how it is, you’re kicking me out,” he joked, while getting up. “Call me when the plan’s ready, I’ll be there. Bye, Scott. Dearest nephew.” He walked out and left them to their scheming.

Back at his own apartment, Peter stood in the doorway, taking in the place. The pizza box was still on the coffee table, together with the bottle of aspirin and the bottle of water. He took a deep sigh, ignoring how the place looked, and walked straight to the bedroom, dropping his clothes on the way. The mess could wait, he needed a good night’s sleep first.

He clambered between the sheets and was hit by the scent of Chris on them, on his pillow, sending all his senses into overdrive. The hairs on his arms were standing up, he could feel his heart quickening. The scent was overwhelming Peter, his own arousal slowly filling the room. With a frustrated growl, he pressed his face into the pillow, only to jerk back a moment later because, well, bad idea. He turned on his back and sighed, dragging a hand down his face in defeat. He knew where this was going, so he might as well submit to the inevitable.

He took off his boxers and wrapped his hand around his hardening dick, stroking himself slowly to the thought of Chris sleeping in his bed just hours earlier. He took deep breaths with every hand movement, pre-come on his fingers. He was working his cock hard, arching his back into his own touch, picturing how he was going to make Chris squirm with pleasure by sucking him achingly slowly, delaying the inevitable. He was speeding up his strokes, the smell of Chris in his bed almost becoming too much, the thought of Chris’s dick inside his mouth, inside his ass, was the last push before he came all over his hand, panting while he sank back into his mattress. He passed out almost immediately.

He woke up sticking to the sheets, the scent of Chris mingled with that of his own semen. He took a long shower - jerking off focusing on Chris’s eyes, this time - and hoped that the hunter would be fighting fit soon. He couldn’t keep this up for very long without suffering severe trauma. He wrapped his towel around his hips and heard his phone ring.

“Good morning, Derek,” he answered, wondering why his nephew was already up at 6am.

“We’re good to go for the day after tomorrow. You still in?” Derek came straight to the point.

“I’m good, thanks for asking. Slept like a baby,” Peter said sarcastically. “I told you I’d help, I’ll be there. Are you still sure you don’t want to involve the rest?”  

“Yes.”

“Just making su- “ Peter started, but Derek had already hung up on him. “You have a nice day as well, nephew,” he added laconically.

\--

Chris was sitting in the dark in his kitchen, staring at the wall. He had ended up there after aimlessly wandering the rooms in his flat for hours after getting a call from Stiles. It was about Peter — of course it was. They had gotten into a fight with the pack threatening the town - Chris still didn't understand why he hadn't been included in this - and he was hurt. And more worryingly than that, the wound took longer than normal to heal. Chris was about to jump down Stiles’ throat through the phone line when the young emissary in training hastily added that the most likely cause was that the wolf that had injured Peter had been the Alpha of the pack, though in the flurry of the fight they couldn’t be entirely sure. Chris planted his face in his hand even as Stiles continued, saying that they had taken Peter to Deaton, who was sure that the wound would start to close within the hour.

Chris's hand hovered over his phone. He had been trying Peter's cell every ten minutes since Stiles hung up, but he kept getting redirected to his voicemail. Even knowing that it was a wound inflicted by an Alpha and that Peter would be fine after a little while, that he was probably just sleeping or getting some rest with his phone on silent (if he had any smarts at all), there was no point in pretending: the thought of Peter getting hurt, or worse, fighting for his life in any other situation was hurting Chris. _See, everybody I love gets hurt,_  he thought. He was too worried about the wolf to pretend it was anything less. Over the past months, their relationship had grown, he just had been too afraid to get hurt again. He put his hands in his hair, elbows on the table. He couldn't do this, he had to go see him. He got up, grabbed his coat, and opened the door.

"Hello, Chris. I got dinner." Peter was standing in front of him, his one hand hovering in the air ready to knock on the door, the other holding a picnic basket. He looked as good as new, not a scratch, no evidence at all that he’d been put through a meat grinder three hours earlier. "Are you okay? You look like you're seeing ghosts."

"I..." Chris wasn't sure whether he wanted to slap the wolf or hug him. He ended up doing neither, he just stepped aside to let him in. "Stiles said you weren't healing at first. I tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up. What happened?" Chris was tripping over his words, getting them all out at once.

"Were you worried, Argent?" Peter teased, but quickly sobered when he saw the look on Chris’s face. "I’m sorry I didn’t call you before coming here, but I thought it’d be easier to explain everything in person. Really, it was just a scratch from an Alpha, it takes more than that to put me between six boards. Especially with Dr Deaton in town and Stiles studying to be an emissary." He walked to Chris and put a hand on the hunter's shoulder. "I promise, I'm alright. You can relax again." He kissed him softly on his cheek. "You look hot when you're worried."

"Don't you dare make light of this, Peter. Being a wolf doesn’t give you carte blanche to go looking for danger without back-up."

"I told them we should call you, you being the one who knows how humans hunt," Peter agreed. "But Scott and Derek were convinced their pack was small, that the three of us could convince them to move on."

"And look how that turned out," Chris grunted. "Are they gone now?"

"Think so," Peter wasn't too sure. All he remembered was the Alpha coming straight at him, slashing his shirt - why did he keep wearing his good shirts to these things, another Armani ruined - and taking half of his organs with it, and being dragged away. He woke up at the vet clinic, where Stiles filled him in on what had happened to him. He had left, only caring that he was okay. "I didn't ask, I saw you tried calling me a gazillion times and felt it was more important to get to you than to learn the details."

Chris put his hand on Peter's wrist, his hand still on his shoulder. "Next time just call me anyway." He put his other arm around Peter's waist and pulled him even closer, and kissed him hard. "I need you alive," he mumbled against the wolf's lips. He felt him smile and nod. He felt all the adrenaline drain from his body and his knees started to buckle. He had to sit down. Reluctantly he let go of Peter and walked to a chair. That was when he spotted the picnic basket. "What's with the basket?"

Peter followed Chris's gaze. He had almost forgotten that he’d brought all that stuff, the sight of the worried hunter had overfilled his brain. "Right. Food. We deserve more than pizza for a date."

Chris smiled. "But we don't deserve to go to a restaurant?"

"You want to take the risk of running into Melissa again? Or John? I thought this was safer." He started unpacking the basket. "Let me cook for you, it'll be romantic."

Chris watched as item after item came out. Pasta - wait, those weren't shaped like regular pastas. He grabbed the bag and studied their shapes. "Dirty pasta, Peter? Really?"

"Nothing quite says romance like boobs and dicks, right?" He smirked and his eyes flashed too-bright blue, as he carried on unpacking the contents. Tomatoes, mushrooms, onions, garlic, meat, bell peppers, he had gone all out.

"Should I start calling you Mary Poppins?"

"And the piece de la resistance," he said, ignoring the remark and pulling out two bottles, "is the wine, one laced with a hint of wolfsbane."

Chris got up and took two glasses from the cupboard before turning back to Peter with a raised eyebrow. "I can really use a drink, but I hope you remember which is which." He opened both bottles carefully and held them up, one in each hand. Peter grinned and showed him the small ‘w’ written at the edge of the label in Chris’s right hand. The hunter gave a small bow in thanks and poured them each a glass. Peter sat down across from Chris and took the glass he knew was for him. "To surviving," Chris toasted.

"To being alive," Peter added. He took a big gulp, and let out an audible sigh. "I should bring some of this wine on our next stakeout. Liven things up a bit, those are always so boring."

"I wouldn't want to call our stakeouts _boring_ , exactly." Chris sounded slightly offended. "Are you saying you're only starting to come on to me out of boredom?"

"We both know we were both coming on to each other, Christopher." Peter finished his glass of wine and got up again. "I'm starving, let's make dinner.” He walked to the counter, grabbed an apron and threw it at the hunter. “I could really use a sous-chef.”

“You’re lucky I like you, Hale,” Chris laughed as he stood. He tied the apron around his waist and got up to help. Peter had started on the mushrooms, chopping them quickly for the sauce. “Here, let me.” Chris was standing behind the wolf, and slid his hands down his arms. “You’re ruining them.” He gripped the knife while holding Peter’s hand, and directed him to go slower, to pay more attention to the task at hand.

“Hard to do with you riding up to me, Argent,” Peter quipped. He could feel Chris pressed against his back, moving even closer, and Peter knew he was not alone in his arousal. The hunter started tracking his neck with slow, wet kisses, while continuing to cut the vegetables. “Careful there, only one of us can heal well from a chopped finger.”

Chris smiled into the wolf’s neck and let go of his hands. “Let’s have dirty pasta,” he said, grabbing a cutting board. “I’m promised dinner.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter couldn’t sleep. He had been able to scent Chris all week after he had slept in his bed, but after seven days he couldn’t catch the hunter’s scent anymore. All he inhaled now was his own scent, his sweat and his come. He turned the pillow around, but there was no point. He had done that too often already. This is ridiculous, he scolded himself, just close your eyes and sleep, for fuck’s sake. To no avail. He spent another hour tossing and turning before getting out of bed, not sure what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long, long time, but it's finally here, the last chapter! Hopefully it's been worth the wait!

Peter couldn’t sleep. He had been able to scent Chris all week after he had slept in his bed, but after seven days he couldn’t catch the hunter’s scent anymore. All he inhaled now was his own scent, his sweat and his come. He turned the pillow around, but there was no point. He had done that too often already. _This is ridiculous,_  he scolded himself, _just close your eyes and sleep, for fuck’s sake._  To no avail. He spent another hour tossing and turning before getting out of bed, not sure what to do.

“Oh, screw it,” he said to the empty room, and put on his jeans and a shirt. He grabbed his keys and walked out the front door. He drove on auto-pilot and ended up in front of Chris’s apartment building. No, he wasn’t there because he missed Chris. Of course not. Argent still had the hoodie he'd lent him. And Peter wanted it back. Not because he needed something that smelled like Chris, it just happened to be one of his favourite hoodies, it went with everything. He almost had himself convinced by the time he knocked on the door.    

It took a couple of minutes for Chris to get himself out of bed. The knocking woke him up instantly, but his right side still hurt badly when he moved too quickly. There was another knock as he grabbed a shirt from the chair. “Hang on, I’m coming,” he muttered, wondering what disaster had occurred this time. He looked through his spyhole and rested his forehead against the door. “Peter.”

Peter inhaled deeply and caught a mix of Chris’s shower gel - Bulgari - mixed with gunpowder and sleep. He put his hand flat on the door. His heart jumped a little when he realised that he could _feel_  the hunter on the other side. “Chris, please.”

Chris opened the door and let the wolf in. “It’s 3 o’clock, Peter, what is it?”

Peter felt as stupid as he'd known he would. And still, he was here, standing in Chris's apartment at three in the morning, looking like an idiot, unable to either tell the truth or come up with a convincing lie.

“I thought booty calls required - well. A phone call,” Chris joked, seeing Peter was having trouble finding the right words.

Peter got his phone out of his pocket. “I can call now, if that makes you feel better?”

Chris let out a chuckle, but then grabbed his side, making a face. “Ouch, please don’t make me laugh. Still hurts.”

“Actually…” Peter couldn’t believe what he was saying. “I remembered you still have my -” he touched the hoodie Chris was wearing, “that, hoodie. I thought I’d come pick it up.”

Chris cocked his head and stared at Peter for a second, before unzipping. “This one?” he said, as he took it off and stepped forward.

“You don’t have to -” But Peter was too late. His hoodie was on the floor and Chris was filling his view, pulling him even closer. He could feel the hunter wince, and he wanted to help relieve his pain, but Chris grabbed his hand before he could.

“No, I’m fine.”

“But Chris, I can help, there’s no need for you to hurt.” Peter didn’t understand why Chris wouldn’t let him.

“I know it’s hard to get why, but I want to feel the pain. It reminds me that I’m still alive,” he mumbled into the wolf’s shoulder, as started putting a trace of kisses on his collar bone.

“Actually I know what you mean. Dead family too, remember?” He took Chris’s head between his hands, and looked straight into his eyes. Chris nodded and reached out for a long kiss. Peter’s tongue found the hunter’s, and his hands were exploring Chris’s body. He felt more than heard the groan when he touched his right side, making him steer them towards Chris’s couch. Unwillingly he broke the kiss, cursing at himself, but needing to see how the hunter was healing. The wounds looked better than the week before, when Peter cleaned them up, but it was obvious that Chris was still in bad shape. “Chris, this isn’t good. Have you seen a doctor yet?”

“Yeah, no internal damage, I just need to rest.”

“Clearly you’re not doing a good job with that,” Peter replied, looking at his flushed, slightly swollen lips, and scenting the arousal in the air. “Up, up, you need to be in bed.” Peter had gotten up and carefully started pulling Chris up as well. “The sooner you’re healed, the sooner we can continue this.”

Chris nodded and let Peter lead him to his bedroom. He knew that any physical activity was bad right now, and having sex with the wolf definitely fell in that category. He let Peter tuck him in, grabbed his shirt for one last kiss, “as a reminder what’s coming”, and watched him close the bedroom door.

Peter fell back on the door, his head hitting the wood. _Patience, Hale. It will happen before your balls turn blue,_  he tried to calm himself down. After a few minutes his erection had subsided enough to be able to go outside. He grabbed his hoodie on his way to the front door, and brought it to his nose. He inhaled deeply and the scent of Chris hit him hard. _It’s what you came here for,_  he reminded himself and he went home.   

\--

Chris was walking to his car with bags of groceries when his jeans started to buzz. He set the bags down, _careful with those eggs,_  he thought, before grabbing his phone to check who was calling. Derek. Not the one he’d expected to call. Whenever there was pack business it was either Scott or Stiles who gathered the gang.

“Argent.”

“Can you meet me at the border of town? At the woods? I can’t handle this on my own, Stiles is off with the Sheriff and I can’t call Scott or Peter or any of the pups for this.”

“Thanks for making me your last option. Give me ten minutes.” Chris put the groceries in the car and drove to the forest and found Derek waiting impatiently, pacing the street. He reminded the hunter of a puppy who was waiting for their boss to come home.

“Hurry up,” Derek said when Chris got out of the car.

“Derek, what on earth happened, you’re acting like the world is ending.”

“There’s something in the woods and it’s emitting ultrasonic sounds to keep the animals away and I’m getting a splitting headache each time I get too close. You won’t have that problem.” He walked on and Chris had to speed up to keep close to the wolf. After ten minutes Derek slowed down again, prompting Chris to look around.

“Derek, it’s better if we take a different path,” he tried, remembering when he was in the woods with a Hale, a month ago, on the same track Derek just took.

Derek kept going, ignoring Chris’s suggestion, since straight ahead was the fastest way to get where he needed to be. _Get a grip, Argent,_  he told himself, _what are the odds you will run into another couple having sex anyway._  He shook his head, trying to get the memory off his mind, and followed Derek. It was to no avail, as he heard Peter’s voice when he saw the tree. _I’ll have what she’s having,_  and Chris felt his cock strain against his jeans. It was like Peter was right there with him, teasing him, whispering in his ear.

“Argent?” Derek had stopped walking and was staring at him, puzzled why the man had stopped and why the air had suddenly turned heavy with arousal.

Chris had been around werewolves long enough to know that denial was pointless. _Stupid wolf senses._  His physical response had been so strong that even he would swear up and down he could smell it. “Keep going, Hale,” he grumbled. Just because he knew, didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

Derek merely raised an eyebrow at Chris, but turned without a word, then walked a few steps before stopping again. The hunter saw him taking a deep breath before he retraced his steps. “Peter?” he mumbled, slightly flustered, looking pointedly at a tree just behind Chris.    

This so wasn’t a conversation Chris wanted to have with the former alpha, but seeing how hard it was for Derek, too, helped him. This was as awkward for him as it was for the wolf. He nodded, not sure what would happen next.

“Look,” Derek started after staring into the distance for what to Chris felt like hours. “It’s okay, at least he chose one of the good Argents,” he mumbled so quickly that Chris almost missed it.

_Did he just give his blessing?_ Chris had trouble believing it, but he knew that’s what happened. “Thanks,” he said, uncertainty ringing in his voice. “Last time I was here, it was with him, and -”

Derek threw his hands in the air. “I’m not _that_  okay with it, no details. Please.”

Chris chuckled. Fine with him. “Okay, lead me to the... thing then.” He followed Derek towards an open space in the woods until they saw clear signs of a large camp. Derek nearly buckled over from the sound, grabbing his head. “We’re going to need a bigger gun,” he said, glad that his right side was alright again, he was going to need his good shooting arm. “And the rest of the pack. We won’t drive them out with just the two of us.” He turned around and pulled Derek with him, away from whatever that was.

\--

“Look, all I’m saying is we can’t leave it like this. Whatever is hiding there, it isn’t friendly.” It had been three days since Derek had dragged Chris into the woods, and Scott had called a pack meeting after learning what they had found, and Chris was trying to convince everybody that they had to act quickly.

“You’re forgetting that we can’t come close without splitting headaches, Argent,” Derek argued. “What’s the point in _us_  fighting them if only you and Stiles can get close.”

“Hey,” Stiles interjected.  

“No offense, Stiles, but it just won’t work.”

“Haven’t forgotten that, no worries. I’ve got a plan,” Chris smiled, he had always like this part best. The planning, anticipating eventual problems, having the solution before they were even mentioned.

“Do you care to share with the class, Christopher?” Peter pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning against until now, and stepped up next to Chris.

Chris grabbed something out of his bag, and looked around the room. “Ear plugs,” he showed them the two small objects in the palm of his hand.

“No way,” Derek opposed. “There’s no way that’ll help.”

“I went to Deaton and he put a spell on them that’ll do the trick. They will quench the ultrasonic tones so you can get as close as you like without your head bursting in two. We tested it on the dogs.” Chris had been dreading this moment, and let out the air he hadn’t been aware he was holding when he saw Scott nodding. Even Derek had to admit that it might actually work.

“Alright, I give in,” he conceded grudgingly. “Clearly you’ve thought this through.”

“That’s right, Derek,” Peter retorted, with a smile that could only mean trouble. “Listen to your Uncle Chris.” The wolf wasn’t fast enough to avoid the elbow to his ribs from the hunter. If looks could kill he’d be dead twice over, daggers coming from both men.

“Argent and Peter are an item,” Stiles whispered in Scott’s ear, catching him up with the rest of the group. “Or…” He turned to Peter. “Is item the right term? Or is it just a casual thing? Friends with benefits? Gettin’ on the fun bus?”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek interrupted before anyone got hurt and put his hand over his emissary’s mouth, just to make sure.

“Ear plugs, good idea. We’ll gather here tomorrow at 6pm, and deal with this.” Scott was eager to leave this hornet’s nest as quickly as he could. “Come on, Stiles, we’ve got homework.”

“We do?”

“Just… Come on, man, they clearly need a moment.” Scott turned to them. “Please keep him in one piece, Mr. Argent. We need you both tomorrow.”

Chris smiled at the young werewolf and nodded. He knew better ways to punish Peter, sleeping on the couch would hurt much more. The hunter just wasn’t sure why _he_  had to suffer as well.   

\--

Peter yawned, cursing at himself for agreeing to a trek with the wolves. Cursing at Derek for even suggesting it. And especially cursing at Scott for being adamant they needed to get going so early. The sun was barely up, even the birds that had woken him many mornings were still asleep, and he had only gotten a few hours of sleep after they had been running around the woods until they managed to defeat whatever that was. Peter still wasn’t entirely sure he knew. He dragged himself out of bed, towards the kitchen to make some coffee to wake up. He just stuck the spoon into the bag with coffee when there was a knock on the door. _Damn it, Scott, this is too much,_  he thought, putting the bag on his kitchen table. He quickly grabbed a pair of sweats and put them on while hopping to the door on one leg.

“Scott, I swear -,” he started, but it wasn’t Scott pounding to get in. “Chris.” Peter stepped aside to let the hunter in. “What are you -”

“Peter, I -,” they both began and stopped talking at the same time. Chris hadn’t expected Peter to open the door only wearing sweat pants, and he quite forgot why he’d come over. He gave the wolf a once-over, and he shoved his hands in his pockets to stop himself from pulling Peter close. He knew what the man felt like under his hands, and that had to wait until he did what he’d come here for. “Can you…” Chris took a deep breath, not wanting to say it. “Can you please put on a shirt? I need to get this out, and that,” he gestured to his body,” isn’t helping me concentrate.”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh, but he was intrigued enough to do what the hunter asked. “I didn’t think anything would get you flustered, Argent.” He couldn’t resist to comment. “What’s keeping you up at this time of night?” He grabbed a shirt and pulled it over his head, walking back to the kitchen to finish making his coffee.   

“I knew you’d be out all day, and this couldn’t wait.” Chris stopped in the doorway, keeping some distance between the hunter and the wolf.

Peter looked up from the coffee machine, and saw Chris fiddling with his hands. He hadn’t seen him this much on edge since… ever. He walked around his kitchen island, needing to be closer to the other man. This made Chris move backward, putting up his hands. “Please, Peter, don’t get closer. I don’t want to be distracted for this. Not yet.”

_Yet,_  that sounded promising. That meant there wasn’t a problem between them that Peter hadn’t picked up on. Good. He put his hands up in surrender and leaned back against the counter. “Okay, you’ve got my attention.”

“Did you mean what you said, about being there if anything changed between us?”

It took Peter a moment to know what Chris meant. Their heart-to-heart in the car before they fought the Stymphalian birds. “Of course I did. I want you, Chris. All of you.”

Chris was silent for a moment, he still hadn’t been sure if he was going to push through, to say what he meant to, until he started talking. “I’ve been thinking about it. You and me. Melissa had some good things to say.”

“You mean…”

“Peter, please. Let me get this out.” He looked at him, and Peter nodded. “I’m not ready for more. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be. I was nearly killed by a friend of mine after he was bitten and the full moon happened. I had to put a bullet in his head, Peter, there was no other way. I really don’t want to have to do that to you.” He saw Peter’s eyes starting to turn too-bright blue.

“You won’t have to, I’m -,” Peter started, but Chris kept talking.

“But-” Back to normal. “Sometimes it isn’t about being ready. It’s about being with somebody who is worth it to take the next step anyway, despite of all the reasons you can think of why it isn’t a good idea. I mean… This isn’t a good idea. And yet every single objection I can think of is counteracted by four simple words. ‘But this is Peter.’” Chris took a deep breath. “I’m not ready, but I want this. I want to be with you. I don’t care who knows. We got this far, together, and I’m not going to let this pass by because of my past, or yours.”

Peter was at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. “Chris.” He carefully took a step forward. Chris didn’t say anything, so he kept going until they were practically nose to nose.

“I want to be happy, Peter. And for some reason I can’t see that happening without you.”

Chris couldn’t move, he hadn’t really thought beyond this point. He hadn’t been able to sleep that night, and he couldn’t blame his shoulder or his side anymore. It had been four weeks since they had to fight off that bird attack, everything had healed. Melissa’s words kept going through his mind, he had to stop thinking so damn much. He wasn’t even sure how he’d ended up at Peter’s apartment, but for the first time since Allison had died he felt a lot closer to alright than he’d ever thought he could.

“Chris?” Peter pinched his skin. Ouch. He was definitely awake.

“I know, it’s a lot to drop on a person. I’m sorry. I’ll leave, let you get ready for that hike.” Chris turned around and started walking towards the door. It took Peter two seconds to process everything, but then he grabbed the hunter’s shoulders.

“Oh no, you’re stuck with me now.” He spun Chris so they were face to face again. Chris turned his head towards the door, but Peter gently pushed it back with a single finger. “I want to be happy, too,” he whispered, and pulled Chris into a kiss. Chris fingers curled into the shirt he had made Peter put on minutes before and started pulling it off his skin.

“Maybe you should send out a bat-signal or something that you won’t be able to do that hike today.”

“I’ll hang a sock on the door,” Peter grinned, moving to the bedroom. 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing, I get nothing.
> 
> The title is a lyric snippet from Tom Waits - Time:  
> Well, the smart money's on Harlow  
> And the moon is in the street  
> The shadow boys are breaking all the laws


End file.
